


Raw

by iLurked



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iLurked/pseuds/iLurked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ward wondered how Trip could make himself vulnerable to Simmons like that? For that matter, how could Simmons be so good to a man who had made an attempt on her life? How could they stand exposing their weaknesses at all times? It was unthinkable for a man who was raised in violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw

**Author's Note:**

> For #wssummer week 2  
> Prompt: Penance

She felt cheated out of the revenge that she wanted so badly not only for herself, but also for her best friend.

She was told that seeing him hurt would quench her need for vengeance.

That could not be further from the truth: she found no satisfaction in seeing him suffer; no joy in torture.

Every punch, every attack on him felt like an assault against herself. Instead of the promised satisfaction, she only tasted the bitter ashes in her mouth.

The sounds were the worst.

Simmons, who prided herself in her high tolerance for the macabre, wanted to throw up at the dull thud of flesh meeting flesh. The growls of the interrogator would stay with Simmons for a long, long while. Equally nauseating were the moans of pain escaping her former teammate, despite his efforts to show no reaction.

She, however, forced herself to endure. She was doing it for Fitz, she reminded herself. Fitz deserved to know that Ward was suffering because of the things he had done to them; that Ward was paying for his betrayal. She owed Fitz that much.

Unfortunately, even such thoughts could not prevent her from wincing every time a hit landed on Ward. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep herself from reaching through the window, to beg Ward to just answer the questions propounded to him, instead of refusing to say a word and glaring back contemptuously at May and Coulson.

She marvelled at their strength: May’s, Coulson’s, and Skye’s. How could they stay in the same room with such malevolence? Simmons was outside, watching from behind thick walls and the protection of a one-way mirror, but she felt overwhelmed and afraid.

Simmons was startled out of her reverie when a white handkerchief was waved on her field of vision. Simmons stared blankly at the proffered piece of cloth when she finally realised that she was crying.

She turned to meet soulful chocolate brown eyes filled with compassion.

“It would not be taken against you if you leave, you know.” Trip told her, pretending that he was not seeing Simmons falling apart.

“I have to watch.” She told Agent Triplett. “For Fitz.”

“I may overstepping here,” he told her. “But if I were Fitz, I would not want you to watch something like this, not for my sake.”

Simmons stayed silent, choosing instead to busy herself by drying her tears.

“You want to step outside with me?” His voice was coaxing, as if he was the one who need to go and not her. “I think I need some air.”

She nodded gratefully before making her escape from the prison hold with her hand in Trip’s.

…

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Our prisoner needs medical attention.”

Phil Coulson pinched his nose, a telling gesture of his frustration and confusion. “Why are you doing this, Simmons?”

“Because I cannot sit idly by doing nothing while someone is out there needing my help.”

“Ward tried to kill you and Fitz.” Coulson all but shouted at her. “And yet you still want to save him?”

“I’m not doing this for him,” meeting her superior officer’s eyes directly, she squared her shoulders and hitched up the medical supplies she held in her hands. “I’m doing this for me. And for Fitz.”

Coulson stubbornly continued, “He’s not your friend, Simmons. He’s Hydra. He’s a murderer and a betrayer.”

“I know all of that, sir.” Was her reply. “But we’re SHIELD. We’re supposed to be the good guys, the white hats. We’re supposed to be better than they are. If we treat our prisoners the same way they would treat theirs, then how are we different from them?”

Coulson hesitated. “Fine. I will order a medical professional to look at Ward, but I forbid you from doing it yourself.”

“Sir, with all due respect,” Simmons told him. “The only way that you could stop me from entering that room is if you forcibly remove me from the premises and lock me away.” Then, her face crumbled, as if she could no longer keep the facade of being strong. “Please, sir. I need to do this.”

Coulson looked away from Simmons and met the eyes of Trip, who had been standing behind the biochemist, lending his quiet support.

“You’re to escort her to the cell,” Coulson told the younger man resolutely. “Under no circumstance are you to leave the two of them alone.”

“I never intended to, sir.” Was Trip’s upbeat reply.

It was only then that Coulson reluctantly stepped away from the door of Ward’s cell.

…

Ward was in pain. He felt every contusion, every laceration, every broken bone. He was hot and cold at the same time. He wanted the escape of death, but that had been denied him. His only consolation was that they did not obtain a single piece of information from him.

He was delirious, lost in his own head, trying to move through the pain, when something cool touched his forehead. He moaned in rapture but later groaned in agony when he lost the wonderful sensation.

He heard a sweet, soft voice murmuring, but it was unintelligible. Ward instinctively knew that what the voice was saying was important, but the more effort he exerted to understand, the more failed to comprehend.

A low, rumbling sound followed the soft voice, quickly quieted.

There were bolts of pain, quickly replaced by comfort. Soft hands and a tender voice soothed him. The pattern repeated until Ward’s consciousness thankfully faded into black.

…

“Are you going to just let them go?”

Coulson looked up from the endless amount of paperwork stacked at his desk. Not for the first time since accepting the job, Coulson wondered if Fury had chosen the right man to lead SHIELD. “I’m sorry?”

“Simmons is off to visit the traitor again,” May told him. “Trip is with her.”

“What do you want me to do?” Coulson asked, sitting back against his chair. That was one perk of being boss. If he was going to be buried alive in paperwork, at least his butt was parked against a top-notch swivel-chair.

“Stop them.”

“Short of restraining the two of them in their bunks, I don’t know how I can do that. They can go wherever they want on their day-off.”

“She’s too soft, too forgiving.” May bit out, her worry over the younger agents coming through the tough facade she had built around herself. “And he’s too infatuated with her to try and stop her.”

“She’s not, and he’s not.” At May’s raised eyebrow, he amended himself. “Alright, he is infatuated with her.” Coulson tossed his pen at his desk and rubbed his temples. Sighed. “We used to believe in second chances, May.”

What he wanted to say was that Simmons has seen the evil humanity is capable of, but still believed in goodness and redemption. She was one of those idealistic people who looked at the world in wonder and revelled in its greatness. It did not mean that she failed to see how ugly the humanity could be, because with SHIELD she encountered darkness on a daily basis, but she refused to let it touch her. Instead, she took it as a challenge, choosing instead to improve her environment; leaving everything and everyone a little better because of her.

And that was the reason Trip was so enamoured of her, because like her, he also believed in goodness and in redemption, which belief was often tested because he had seen and done too much. In a way, Simmons reminded Trip of the things he was fighting for, of the things his family fought for before him.

What Coulson meant was that when they were beginning their careers in SHIELD, Coulson and May used to be Simmons and Trip, but they lost something along the way.

And if there were people that Coulson believed capable of pulling back Ward (along with May and Coulson) from the pit that he dug himself in, Simmons and Trip were it. (The other person Coulson believed equally capable of the task was, unfortunately, in a coma.)

There was no outward reaction from May.

“She’s trying to save him, especially after learning everything he went through.” Coulson told her tiredly. “If she still believes that there’s a chance to save Ward, I won’t stand in her attempt to do so.”

May looked away. “I’ll ready the short bus.”

Coulson sighed. He was now the director of SHIELD, and still he can’t stop his agents from calling the SUV the short bus.

…

When Ward finally came to, he was so confused and in pain that when he opened his eyes, he thought an angel had come to separate his evil soul from his broken carcass.

After his sight focused, he realised that the situation he found himself in was worse.

He was moved to a spartan cell, the only furniture inside the thin mattress he was lying on and the toilet without walls in the corner.

But what made his situation hell were the two concerned faces hovering above him.

“How are you doing, Ward?” Simmons asked, giving him a strained smile.

Trip, seeing Ward awake, scooted over to a corner of the room to give the two former teammates even an illusion of privacy.

“Just peachy.” He told her, trying to sit up, unwilling to remain in a position of disadvantage. Unfortunately, his body betrayed him. It would not move in the manner he commanded it to.

“That’s good,” she replied brightly. “But it’s unfortunate you have to wake up now, I still have one more lesion to stitch up.”

“I don’t need your help.” He pushed her hands away.

“I beg to differ,” she sat back on her haunches, as Ward’s bed was a mere mattress. “You may not want my help, but you need it.”

Seeing that his body was riddled with open wounds and bruises, and he felt each and everyone of those injuries, Ward silently conceded the point to her. Not that he would admit it out loud.

“Then I want someone else to help me. I don’t want you touching me.” He told her as authoritatively as he can, under the circumstances.

Her flinch was another wound to add to his collection, but she remained composed and calm.

“Nobody else want to help you, Ward.” Simmons sighed. “You’ve killed and hurt too many of our agents. Some people tend to take that personally.”

“Why are you here, then?” Ward demanded. “Is it because you’re too weak that you can’t even refuse the order to fix the prisoner?” He knew he was lashing out because the pity he saw in her eyes was more painful than any physical blow that was inflicted against him.

“I’m not weak.” Simmons crossed her arms, looking for all the world like a petulant child.

“Not weak?” Ward snarled. “Look at you, you couldn’t even hold a grudge against me, a man who tried to kill you and your boyfriend.”

“Fine.” Her brow furrowed. “If you don’t want me to administer first aid, I’ll try to find someone else who would. But don’t blame me if poison is rubbed on your wounds instead of medicine because I’m sorely tempted to do that myself.” With that parting comment, Simmons slammed out of the cell.

Ward was finally able to loosen up his tight bold on his body.

“You could not be more wrong.” Trip told him conversationally.

Ward jerked in surprise. He had forgotten that the younger agent was in the room with them.

“It was not weakness when she gave you her forgiveness. She was not weak when she let her hate go. From where I’m standing, Ward, between the two of you, it was Simmons who held all the power.”

"Only because I’m a prisoner here."

Trip shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

…

“Sir? Do you have time?”

Coulson sighed. The answer to that question was a resounding no. Since assuming the mantle of SHIELD Director months ago, he never had enough time in the day.

However, the steel in Simmons’ eyes told Coulson that had he replied in the negative, she would only come back later. And again and again, until he finally found time to deal with her. Better to get it over now.

“Come in.” Coulson raised an eyebrow when Trip, carrying an enormous binder filled with paperwork, followed Simmons into the office. “What can I do for the two of you?”

Simmons beamed at Coulson before turning to Trip, who then placed the heavy binder he was holding on top of the already overflowing paperwork on the table.

Then, moving as if they had rehearsed their movements, both Trip and Simmons stepped back and looked expectantly at Coulson.

“What am I looking at?” Coulson asked tiredly.

“I made a study,” Simmons declared proudly. “In my spare time, of course. And Trip helped.”

“You helped create more paperwork for me?”

“Of course not.” Simmons laughed uncomfortably. “It’s a study.”

“Now, sir,” Trip added. “I know how busy you are. So we also prepared a video presentation that summarises Simmons’ findings.”

“Forget the research and the presentation,” Coulson suppressed a frustrated groan. “Pitch it to me in five minutes or less. Or at the very least tell me what it’s about.”

“It’s a study about torture, sir.” Simmons’ face grew grave. “On how it does more harm than good. Torture is an extreme act of violence that affects not only the victims but also the perpetrators. As an instrument of interrogation, it is inefficient and unreliable at best.”

“What do you want me to do with it?” Coulson pinched his forehead, as if to stave off an oncoming headache.

“As SHIELD Director,” Trip replied. “You now have the power to set new policies, regulations, and rules.”

“We respectfully recommend for SHIELD to take a stand against torture.” Simmons finished.

“If this is about Ward—” Coulson tried to interrupt.

“It’s not just Ward,” Simmons bit her lip, and amended her statement at Coulson’s disbelieving look. “It’s not just about Ward. It’s also for the protection of our own agents.”

“Torture,” Trip became downcast, as if he was remembering an experience in his past. “Takes a piece out of your soul, even if you are on the end giving the blows.”

Coulson looked from one earnest face to another. “I’ll look over your report.”

“Thank you, sir!” Trip and Simmons chorused before making their way out of Coulson’s office quickly, as if they were afraid that he would change his mind.

…

Ward was delivered to the new and improved Fridge after Simmons pronounced him good to go.

(He was, for some reason, no longer interrogated and tortured after Simmons began caring for him. Resultantly, he eventually recovered from all his injuries and his wardens lost interest in him.)

At least once every other month, more if they could afford it, Simmons and Trip make their way to the Fridge to visit a reluctant Ward. Simmons made it a point to do so especially after she discovered that after three months of incarceration, Ward never received a single visitor.

Trip and Simmons usually spent the hour-long visits sitting on the floor, being ignored by Ward.

Simmons, usually uncomfortable with long stretch of silence, would babble about everything and anything. Trip chimed in occasionally, but he was usually content to hear Simmons’ voice.

On their second visit, Trip brought cookies his mother baked: cookies that were checked and x-rayed and taste-tested so much that when they reached Ward’s cell, they were nothing but crumbly bits—delicious and gooey crumbly bits, but still crumbly bits. (Ward did not touch them until two days after the Trip and Simmons visit.)

It was on the fifth visit, after Ward finally realised that nothing he could do would drive the two young agents away, that he finally deigned to talk to them.

“Are you ever going to ask me why?” Were Ward’s first words to Simmons.

Simmons, who was about to make a move against Trip in the game of chess they play in their heads (mental because they were not allowed to bring anything into Ward’s room that may be used as or to create a weapon), turned to Ward with a puzzled frown. “Why what?”

“Why I did the things I did.”

Simmons leaned against the wall and looked up the ceiling, as if thinking hard about her decision. Then she shrugged. “Nope.”

Ward frowned. “If you won’t ask why, then I would.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She did not even pretend to not understand what he was asking. She replied, “Because I can. Because I think you’re worth it. Because I believe in catching more flies with honey than with vinegar. Because every time you do something right, a fairy gains its wings.” Simmons shrugged. “Take your pick.”

Ward did not appreciate it when Trip started laughing.

…

“Why are you doing this?” Skye demanded.

“Because he saved my life.” Simmons replied easily.

“Well, he put yours and Fitz’s lives in danger after so jumping out after you doesn’t count. Not anymore.”

“His saving my life cancelled out his putting it in danger,” Simmons stated in a flat attempt at humour. “Maybe that’s better. We can start with a clean slate.”

“Coulson should not have given you Ward’s file.” Skye bit her lip. “He’s evil, Simmons. He does not deserve our pity.”

“I don’t think I could live with myself if I don’t try and save Ward.”

“He’ll only play you.” Skye resisted the urge to shake the biochemist, desperate to remove her friend from the sphere of one Grant Ward. “He’s a lying, cheating, manipulative bastard.”

“Nobody is that good an actor, Skye,” she told her softly. “He had been with us 24/7. Even if there was truth to what they say about him being better than the Black Widow, nobody could keep up an act for that long.”

Skye crossed her arms and turned away from Simmons, as if she could no longer bear looking at her.

“I think,” Simmons continued. “That the Ward we met and loved here in the bus is buried somewhere deep inside the monster of Garrett’s creation.”

Skye flinched at the word loved, but she let out a shuddering sigh when she felt Simmons’ hand on her shoulder.

“It’s worth the risk to discover if there is truth to that, isn’t it?” Simmons finished. “You can come with me, if you want.”

“I can’t,” Skye turned to look at Simmons. “It hurts too much.”

Simmons nodded in understanding. There was no judgment in her gaze, no disappointment. “I understand,” she said. Because she did.

…

A little over a year later, Ward marvelled at the dedication of Simmons and Trip. They never wavered in their quest to save his soul.

“I don’t know, Ward. I still think that Simmons would enjoy Venice over Paris.” Trip was saying when they were interrupted by a series of chimes heralding the P.A. System.

“Dr. Jemma Simmons,” a creepily robotic voice announced. “You have a phone call from a Dr. Pascual.”

“That’s Fitz’s doctor,” Simmons scrambled to her feet, hurrying towards the cell’s door.

“Say hi to her for me, babe.” Trip called out. “Tell her that I’ll bring brownies that will put her blondies to shame the next time we visit Fitz.”

“Kay,” Simmons called out as she ran out immediately after the door opened.

Ward was startled at the pet name the smoothly rolled off Trip’s tongue. That Simmons thought nothing of it told Ward that it was an everyday occurrence and not some slip of the tongue.

Then, Ward recognised the familiar look of giddiness combined with wistfulness that crossed the younger agent’s face. It was the same look Ward saw in the mirror in the morning every time Simmons was due to visit.

“You’re in love with her.” The words exploded out of Ward, his tone horrified.

“In love with her, too, you mean.” Trip turned to Ward with a knowing look. “Took you a while to cotton on.”

“You’re not even going to deny it?” Ward demanded.

“Why should I?” Trip asked easily. “It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“And does she,” Ward swallowed through his dry mouth. Tried again. “Does she know? Does she return your feelings?”

“She’s not required to return my feelings,” Trip shrugged. “And I know that right now, her priority is Fitz, and to a lesser extent, you. I get that.”

Ward did not understand. A love like Trip’s, given freely and unconditionally, was a concept so foreign to the former specialist, that all he could do was gape at the younger man.

How Trip could make himself vulnerable to Simmons like that? And for that matter, how could Simmons be so good to a man who had made an attempt on her life. How could they stand exposing their weaknesses at all times? It was unthinkable for a man who was raised in violence.

Trip started laughing at Ward’s poleaxed expression.

Before he could comment, however, the door to the cell burst open. A Simmons who looked shell-shocked stood in the doorway.

“Simmons?”

Both Ward and Trip scrambled towards the woman in alarm, but only one man made it to her; only one man was able to put his hands on her shoulders as a gesture of comfort.

The other man stopped short, knowing that he was incapable, unable to give her a single act of kindness.

“It’s Fitz,” she cried out.

Ward’s stomach cramped, fearing the worst.

“He’s awake and demanding a sandwich.” Then, she promptly burst into tears.

Trip started laughing, partly in relief and partly in unbridled joy. “That’s a good thing, yeah?”

“Happy tears, Trip,” Simmons sniffed inelegantly. “Happy tears.”

Unable to contain her joy, Simmons leaped up to Trip, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Trip let out a huge whoop, caught Simmons by the waist, and spun her around.

Ward tried to convince himself that he did not care; that the acid eating at the pit of his stomach was merely annoyance at having his peace disturbed.

(Ward was the one supposed to catch her.)

…

“Fitz still believes in you,” Simmons told him conversationally one day.

Startled, Ward’s eyes flew to her. When she just smiled at him, he turned to Trip, but the younger man just shrugged.

“Fitz said that you gave us the best chance under the circumstances.” Simmons told him with a smile. “I think I’ll believe him.”

“Don’t delude yourself into thinking that I’m a good man who simply lost his way.” Ward’s eyes were made of steel. “I am not the man you thought I was.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Simmons conceded solemnly. “Or maybe you’re not the man you think you are. Have you ever thought about that?”

…

As his incarceration lengthened, Ward was allowed liberties in increments.

At first, he was given short periods of time each day to exit his cell to stretch his legs, in addition to his daily shower time.

Soon, he was also allowed to go to the recreation room, which contained a sad-looking couch and a battered television.

He was watching the a television show about a masked vigilante when it was interrupted by breaking news. Something big was happening in Muir Island, which was off the coast of Scotland, and Simmons was right smack in the middle of it.

Only, it didn’t seem like the news. Instead, it was like a scene straight out of science fiction.

Simmons and another woman, both wearing lab coats, were running out of a burning mansion while a ten-foot tall rampaging robot attacked half a dozen people. Surprisingly, the people were not overpowered by the robot. Instead, they were gaining the upper hand: a lanky man was shooting laser beams out of his eyes while another was throwing one explosive after the other. A white-haired woman was flying and seemed to be commanding lightning bolts to attack. A giant furry beast was hanging onto the robot’s arm and trying to detach it from its body while a man made of ice was freezing a leg.

Meanwhile, a group of men in uniform who were armed to the teeth tried to accost Simmons, but a stocky man was there, using himself as her human shield. He was holding three sharp implements in each hand and wielding them with deadly accuracy. He was single-highhandedly annihilating the group of men when a grenade rolled between their feet.

Ward would never forget the look on Simmons’ face when she realised what the grenade was and the steely determination on her face when she dived for it, intending to use her body to minimise its effects.

The explosion that occurred caused the broadcast to be interrupted.

Ward did not realise he was screaming Simmons’ name until the Fridge guards showed up to neutralise the perceived threat.

…

Ward was eventually given phone privileges, but as he had no one to call, his minutes was now up to thirty hours. He had to trade and concede some of those hours so that he would be allowed a phone call even if it was not yet his turn to enjoy the privilege.

In the three rings it took before his phone call was picked up, Ward almost lost his grip on his sanity the same number of times.

“SHIELD Office,” came the almost-chipper greeting. “Fitz speaking.”

For a moment, Ward’s problems slid to the back of his mind, overwhelmed by the thought that he was talking to a man who he tried to kill. “Fitz?”

“Who is this?” Fitz demanded, then he seemed to talk to someone with him. “Who do we know from prison?”

Fitz’s companion replied but it was too soft for Ward to follow.

There was a thud then Trip came into the line. “Ward, man. I’m so sorry. With the insanity of the past few days, we totally forgot about you.”

Ward’s hand tightened on the phone he was holding. He could blame no one but himself that he was not the team enforcer anymore, that he was not the first one told of the team’s shenanigans, that he was now an afterthought.

There was a strange noise, then Fitz’s voice piped in, “Mutants! Mutants are happening!” He paused. “Hello, Ward. How are things?”

“It could be better,” Ward replied. “How are you?”

“I could be better.” Was his response which caused Ward to let out a short bark of laughter.

“I’m sorry.” Ward forced himself to choke out. His apology covered a multitude of sins, he did not even know where to start.

“Yes, well, I talked to Simmons. She said you’re doing better now. You’re giving information about Hydra and trying to make up for the things you did. So, I forgive you, Ward. Skye and May and Coulson may take a bit longer, though. Your betrayal cut them deeper and affected them more. But we’re trying to work on them, don’t you worry.”

Ward was ashamed to say that he actually took a second to compose himself, afraid that he would lose his three-day battle against tears.

“But Simmons left us,” Fitz said glumly. “To think it was her idea to soften Skye, May, and Coulson, too. I’d bet she’s in heaven right now.”

Ward punched the wall with his free hand.

“Ward?” Trip asked hesitantly.

He almost failed to hear him over the roaring of blood in his ears. To hear Fitz confirm that Simmons was gone; to lose hope that Simmons made it through that explosion; Ward wanted to question the god he long ago stopped believing in. How could someone like Ward, a scourge of the world, survive; while Simmons, whose very existence made everyone better, her life was cut off?

“Ward!” Trip was shouting. “Ward, listen to me!”

It took all of Ward’s mental training to put himself together just to answer, “Yes?”

“Simmons is alright,” Trip stated firmly. “She’s alive.”

“Of course, she’s alright!” Fitz snapped. “Why would he think she’s not alright?”

Ward was finally able to breathe.

“The news broadcast?” Trip suggested. “Remember when her parents descended on Coulson after the entire Muir Island debacle?”

“Oh,” Fitz paled. “OH.”

“Yes, oh.” Ward could almost see Trip rolling his eyes.

"How?" Was all Ward could ask.

“Well, there was a mutant whose power was teleportation.” Fitz related. “He was able to reach her in time and teleport her out of harm’s way.”

“But you said she left you?” Ward was unwilling to believe, unwilling to hope.

“Simmons is on loan to a group of mutants who call themselves the X-Men. She’s giddy with happiness.” Fitz made a sound of irritation. “I’m sure she’s pestering them with all her questions.”

“Coulson is not happy.” Trip added. “The new mutant reveal fell squarely in SHIELD jurisdiction. We’ve got new responsibilities, but given the same budget and manpower. We’re spread too thin as it is.”

Then, before Ward could stop himself, the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “I want to help.”

…

“He is your responsibility,” Coulson was saying as he expertly navigated Lola towards the bus. “If this is some elaborate scheme for him to escape, if he plays you-”

“This is not a scheme,” Ward stated quietly from the backseat, his hands and feet chained for security purposes. He was being released to the custody of Simmons and Trip, to serve his remaining (read as: five life sentences and then some) penalty as consultant for SHIELD. “No tricks, no plans, nothing. This is my second chance. I’m not going to waste it.”

“Just make sure of it.” Coulson told him gravely. “Trip and Simmons staked their careers on this. Screw up and screw them up with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“See? We’re off to a great start.” Trip laughed, unconcerned.

A few more awkward moments later, they made it to the hangar where the bus was parked. Slowly, the cargo bay doors lowered.

May was the first one off. She did not say anything, but the look she gave Ward was eloquent. She would be keeping a close eye on him, and any screw up would be dealt with accordingly.

Then came Fitz, rolling down the ramp on his wheelchair. The lack of oxygen on his brain not only had him languishing in a coma for a year, it also caused weakness of his arms and legs. He was confined to a wheelchair for his own safety; a wheelchair that was electric and souped up, to be sure, but a wheelchair nonetheless.

The sight of Fitz was like a punch to Ward’s gut. 

"Ward." Ward was sure that the chair’s wheels running over his foot was an accident, but Fitz’s smile was a little too innocent.

Skye came next. Her tentative smile and wary eyes broke Ward’s heart all over again, but he would work on rebuilding their relationship. It would take effort and even more time, but all Ward had now was time.

“Hey,” Skye nodded at him.

“Hey.”

Ward looked for another familiar face but-

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Fitz grumbled as he activated his comms. “Simmons! He’s here.”

“Ward!” Simmons came running down the ramp a minute later. She did not stop until she reached him. To his surprise, she used her inertia to launch herself up, throwing her arms around his shoulders. “Welcome back to the team!” Simmons smiled at him.

Slowly, tentatively, he put his own arms around her.

Ward was finally able to catch her again.


End file.
